EFD1: Starship Goodwords (EFD Anthology Series from Carrick Publishing)

by Unknown

  I was careful to open the bureau in such a way so the wood did not squeak. I dressed quickly, but my fast movements were too loud and Mary turned in her bed. “What’s going on?” she mumbled, not bothering to open her eyes.

  “Nothing,” I whispered, “go back to sleep.”

  Too tired to argue, Mary turned back into her pillow and did what she was told, a first in her lifetime.

  I found Charlie in the kitchen rummaging through the cupboards pulling out a jar of jam and loaf of bread Mama had made the day before. I watched as he threw the items in a floppy flour sack and then turn back for the two tins of meat on the shelf.

  “What are you doing?” I asked abandoning my whispered tone.

  Instead of defending himself or offering an explanation he flashed me a smile, the Charlie Meyer smile I could recognize anywhere. He swung the sack over his shoulder and motioned for me to follow him out the back door.

  The neighbourhood was completely asleep. The only movement besides ourselves were a few tom cats lounging on their owner’s porches after a night on the town, waiting for their morning meal. Charlie and I walked an entire block before he said anything.

  “I’m leaving,” he spat out, as if the very words couldn’t be held inside him any longer.

  I jerked my head in his direction, challenging him with my eyes to repeat what he just said. He was barely fifteen, hardly an age to venture out on his own, especially with work for Papa so scarce. We needed him, second in command we always told him. We needed everyone. Together.

  “Don’t try to talk me out of it, Lily,” he said turning his gaze from my own. “I met Jimmy last night and he’s going to Toronto. He says his cousin has work for him there and said that I could tag along.”

  “Charlie you can’t—”

  “I will send money back when I can,” he continued, “maybe enough for you and Mary to buy a new dress.”

  I stared at him as he walked a few paces ahead of me. I silently dared him to keep talking, knowing he was hardly making any sense. “I don’t need a new dress, and neither does Mary.”

  I watched as he pressed his lips together but he did not waiver. He looked so determined to go and I felt it would not matter what I said.

  “I asked you to come to see me off,” he said.

  “What about Mama, and Pa?” I asked struggling to keep up with his quickening pace.

  “I didn’t want a fuss, Lily!” he yelled turning to me so quickly I nearly walked right into him. “I wanted to say goodbye without Ma blubbering, and Pa threatening to tie me to the porch.”

  I swallowed, conceding to be silent, to do as he asked, to not make a scene.

  We crossed the main street without needing to run as we normally would have to avoid the approaching automobiles. The single traffic light suspended over the intersection blinked on and off needlessly as we passed.

  Jimmy was there, waiting at the side of the station smoking a cigarette, no doubt stolen from his father. Charlie’s best friend was alone, apparently seeing no need to inform his family either, or perhaps he had left a hastily scribbled note on the dining room table. I suddenly imagined having to tell our mother and father, without the aid of a note. I would be solely responsible for breaking the news that their eldest son had abandoned us.

  We were four or five paces from Jimmy before I grabbed Charlie’s arm and pulled him back, tears streaming down my hot cheeks. “Don’t do this,” I said frantically.

  He placed his hand on my cheek. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, a smile growing.

  “Not getting cold feet are you?” Jimmy called out. He plucked the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the gravel, grinding it with his foot.

  Charlie shook his head. He couldn’t bear to look at me. “I’m coming,” he said, “Just go ahead. I won’t be but a minute.”

  Jimmy nodded, waved his hand to me and began his march down the tracks. Once he was out of earshot Charlie turned back to me. I was a complete mess with tears streaming down my cheeks and my nose running. I wondered how he could look at me and not be convinced to stay.

  “Who’s gonna tell Mama?” I asked my voice laced with panic. “What’s Pa going to do when you’re gone? What if something happened to Pa?—”

  “Ah come on! Nothing’s gonna happen to Pa.” Charlie seemed to laugh slightly at the suggestion.

  “But what if something did? We wouldn’t survive long, not with the way things are.” I searched his face for any hint of hesitation. He had been so desperate to leave since we were kids and now he had a chance to go. He was leaving, boarding a freight train like some hobo and he expected me to be the one to break it to the rest of the family. “You’re a coward Charlie Meyer,” I spat out, suddenly disgusted with him. “A complete coward if you think you can just run off without so much as a proper goodbye.”

  I didn’t know what to expect from him. Part of me braced for a smack in reaction to my hurtful words, the other part pleaded for just some harsh words instead. He did neither. He glanced over his shoulder to Jimmy and saw him many yards down the track.

  Without a word he kissed me softly on my soggy cheek and walked away. He jogged to Jimmy’s side and then kept pace as they walked the track together. I knew they planned to jump on a moving train farther down the track when no one was looking. That was the way you did it back then with no money to pay your fare. I heard a train rumbling down the farthest track, slowly since it was in town but gathering up speed as it charged along.

  “A coward Charlie!” I yelled against the clattering of the tracks and the boom of the whistle. “You are a coward!” I didn’t even know if he could hear me but it didn’t matter. I believed he was gone to me, although I could still see him down the tracks, I believed him to be as good as gone.

  I watched another train go by me, charging down the track closest them. How they knew it would be the one to take to Toronto, I did not know. As it passed them, moving slowly, Jimmy threw up his sack and began running. He climbed into the open box car and reached out his hand to my brother who had been keeping pace. I saw Charlie throw up his bag but I turned my eyes and began bawling into my hands. I did not want to see him gone. I wanted to open my eyes and be back in my bed, where I would have been on any normal Saturday morning.

  ***

  I walked in the back door, not expecting anyone to be awake but found a room full of faces looking at me from the breakfast table. Mama was standing next to the kettle, her apron on as it was every morning. Pa was seated at the head of the table, but he was not reading the paper as usual. It lay untouched beside him. I glanced to Mary who only hung her head towards her porridge. She had told them but I could hardly blame her.

  “Where’s Charlie?” my father asked, poking at the inside of his cheek with his tongue. I swallowed hard as everyone looked to me.

  “He’s in the shed,” I answered earnestly, “getting the papers ready.”

  As if on cue, the shed door slammed. My father nodded and turned his attention to his paper. My mother gave a slight smile and turned back to the stove. I could have sworn I saw a tear, as if they had known where we were. Why no one came out to stop him I’ll never know. Perhaps they knew nothing could be done, or perhaps they felt if anything could be done I was the one to do it.

  ***

  The thundering of the train petered away becoming more and more distant the longer I cried into my hands. I waited for what felt like forever until I knew the train was completely gone and the track would be empty. I forced myself to look up, not wanting to see the empty tracks but reconciled myself to the task of telling Mama and Pa about Charlie’s biggest mistake.

  My tear blurred eyes were playing tricks on me. I thought I saw Charlie walking along the track.

  Walking back to me.

  It was impossible. I had seen him reaching out his hand to board the train. I saw him throw up his sack. Yet there he was sauntering down the track, his hands thrust in his pockets. I saw him glance once over his shoulder, possibly t
hinking of his one chance to get away and cursing himself for inviting his damn sister along to say goodbye. But perhaps that’s the way he planned it all along as a way of saving face with his friend.

  ***

  I didn't dare to speak of the day when Charlie almost left, at least not until we found ourselves standing on the train station platform not five years later. Charlie was wearing his uniform, collected from the recruitment office the day before. He was leaving, with a ticket this time. He could not change his mind no matter how much his little sister pleaded.

  He hugged Mama and Pa before turning to me, a broad smile spreading across his face. “Don’t try to talk me out of it,” he said, wrapping his arms around me.

  He watched me, as if hesitating, waiting for my words of wisdom.

  “You are the bravest man I know,” I said. “You’re very courageous... Charlie Meyer.”

  The train whistle blew over us and the conductor yelled from his step the familiar call. The train would be leaving and we needed to say goodbye.

  Charlie ruffled the hair on Jacob’s head, and hugged Mary tightly. Before he boarded the train Pa slapped him on the back and nodded his approval. I wondered if anyone else could see the tears for all the pride. My brother waved to us once more before disappearing in the passenger car. We saw him in the window just briefly before the train began to pull away from the platform.

  We never saw him again. He died in the fight for France. Mama was in the garden and I was seated on the porch reading. I looked up when I saw the uniformed messenger making his way up the walk. I had been smiling over a passage I had just read but my smile faded when I saw him hand the telegram over to my mother’s garden soiled fingers.

  He was gone. I knew in that moment and no one needed to tell me. He was gone.

  Some years later the grain elevator closed its doors. The trains became less frequent before stopping altogether. The train station operates as a museum now with a small portion of track remaining where miles and miles used to begin.

  I paid a visit there once and could have sworn I saw him, Charlie, on the end of the platform waving his goodbye, my mind making the switch from fourteen to twenty in a matter of seconds. Over the years my mind confused the two memories until they seemed to melt into one. Some days I feel as if I said goodbye to my brother twice, each time never seeing or hearing from him again.

  Tracy L. Ward is the author of Chorus of the Dead, the first book in a Victorian morgue mystery series featuring surgeon, Peter Ainsley, now available on Kindle and Kobo. A journalist by trade, Tracy enjoyed numerous bylines in both newspapers and magazines before embarking on her journey into fiction.

  Visit Tracy at her BlogSpot

  or at her Amazon Author Page

  THE MINSTREL'S SPELL

  Susan M. Botich

  Long ago, near a small village by a vast wood, there once lived a humble farmer and his wife.

  They had but one child, a girl of sturdy build with a flat, round face. Those who were kind called her plain. Others, with cruel hearts, would carelessly claim that she was the ugliest child ever born. She was a good child and kind-hearted, but still the neighbors would whisper that she was so ugly no man would ever possibly want her.

  The child's name was Edith. Her mother and father were devoted to her as she was to them. She treated all the creatures on or near the small farm as her friends, for she had no one else to play with. Accept for when the occasional rude remark was said behind her back, Edith was a happy child. She and her family lived a quiet, but contented life. And that was how she grew into womanhood.

  Now in the village there lived a widowed carpenter who had but one son, who he called Jack. He was large and broad with a strong back, small, round eyes, large nose and very full lips. Many people in the village muttered to each other as he passed them on the street. They called him dumb and clumsy because of his appearance, yet he was neither. He was quite skilled despite his youth and could, in fact, out do his father in any aspect of their profession.

  One autumn, as the gold leaves were beginning to turn brown, Edith's mother became ill. She would not regain her strength and finally, one cold grey morning, she died. The young girl's father was so heart-broken, he too fell ill and, just before the winter snows thawed, he quietly passed away, leaving the farm to his dear daughter.

  Edith was now a grown woman and filled with loneliness at the loss of both her mother and father within the same year. She managed the farm alone but, as a few years passed, it became too much. The little house, along with the barn and the fences, were all in much need of repair and she couldn't manage it alone. So, as much as she disliked going to the village (for there were always smirks and nasty comments said about her behind her back), she decided to seek out a carpenter there.

  She left for the village the very next day. She arrived midmorning, not stopping to talk to anyone, but going straight to the small carpenter's shop. She entered the shop a little timidly. Seeing no one there, she decided to wait. After what seemed like a long time, she began to wonder if the carpenter was out for the day and had forgotten to lock up. Just as she was turning to leave, there appeared a large, broad man with carpenter's belt standing half in the shadows of the doorway.

  "How may I help you, Ma'am?" his deep, throaty voice asked. His manner was gentle and, while he stood, he shuffled his feet a little bashfully. For the first time since her parent's had died, while standing in the presence of another, Edith didn't feel ugly.

  She answered him in a soft, calm voice even though she was a little nervous.

  "Master Carpenter, I've come to hire a worker for repairs on my house and barn and the fences too, if it's not too much trouble. You see both my mother and my father are dead and I've been managing the farm alone, but it's become too much for me this past year. I can pay you promptly when work is completed!"

  The young carpenter stepped into the shop and out of the shadows.

  "I am not the Master Carpenter. I am his son. My name is Jack and, if you like, I can come tomorrow to begin the work."

  Jack smiled a little shyly at Edith. He usually didn't feel comfortable around others, but this young woman was different. She was short and squat with a broad face, but she seemed good-hearted to him and he felt compassion for her, having lost both her parents.

  At that moment, the old master carpenter entered the shop and stood just inside the doorway, looking at Edith and then his son and then back at Edith again.

  "What's this?" the old man asked with a curious look.

  Jack hadn't heard his father come in behind him. In fact, both Jack and Edith were startled a little at the intrusion.

  "Father," Jack began in his husky voice, "this young woman needs some repairs done on her place. I told her I could begin tomorrow, since we've just finished the last job."

  Jack's father was a little irritated that his son had arranged to take a job on his own, without first consulting him, but he knew it was only a matter of time before Jack would either take over the shop or go off on his own. He couldn't expect his son to act as though he were an apprentice forever.

  "I see," replied the old man. "Very well. Tomorrow it is then"

  Early the next morning Jack arrived at the farm. He worked carefully on each task that Edith put before him. He found himself wanting to please her with his work and something more than that. He simply wanted to please her. They talked together quite easily whenever they were working near each other. Edith began to look for chores that needed to be done near Jack just to be close to him. They would talk and laugh over the midday meal Edith set.

  Each following day was spent this way until, finally, the last of the repairs was completed. The day's end was growing near and Edith watched Jack slowly put each tool carefully away. Then, as she drew nearer to him, bringing the money she owed him, he noticed her sadness. His heart felt deeply touched by her. Never had anyone caused him so much joy and sorrow at the same time. He asked her if he might see her again and her smile overtook
her homely face, making it seem beautiful.

  They agreed to see each other often, and beamed their good-byes to one another. Jack kept turning to look back and waved again and again every few steps. His heart felt as light as a bubbling brook.

  Jack and Edith kept their promises to one another as often as they could. He would come to see her at her little farm and she found she needed to visit the village quite often now, each time stopping at the small carpenter's shop. Their fondness grew into love and one warm summer's evening Jack asked Edith to be his wife. They were soon wed near her farm in a large meadow full of wildflowers and honeysuckle.

  ***

  Jack and Edith lived happily together on the little farm. Each day Jack walked the distance into the village to work with his father. He had hoped his father would come to live with them, but he was a stubborn man and not easily taken to change. He had grown accustomed to his tiny rooms behind the little shop and so, for a time, his father stayed in the village. More and more the old carpenter would take the smaller projects, leaving the more difficult ones to Jack. His back was a little more bent than it used to be and he needed to take rest more often than before.

  As time went by, Jack developed a name for himself as a master craftsman, as well as builder. Now, those who came to the little shop asked for him directly, with all due respect to the old Master Carpenter.

  Edith made sure that her father-in-law was kept well-fed, always sending along baskets of fresh baked bread, eggs, cheese, and vegetables with her husband. She worried about the old man, but he seemed happy enough and would come to visit them occasionally when he could. And so they spent their days, contented with their lives.

  Much had changed for Jack and Edith, but one thing remained as it had always been. The smirks and whispers behind their backs as they walked the village streets, didn't lessen. Now the neighbors gossiped even more. They declared how it was a stroke of good fortune the couple didn't have any children. What on earth would the children of two people like that look like? They would surely be hideous! People like that shouldn't have children, anyway....and so on, and so on.